Broken
by Arsaem
Summary: He couldn't help the tears that sprang to his eyes as he listened, couldn't drown out that awful, oh-so-familiar voice, but so different and full of rage and hate and everything Sam loathed to become. What he almost became, in his quest for revenge, and what Dean was now. Dean. His brother. Sam looked up and only saw black eyes.


**It's midnight, I was at work all day, and I really should go to bed. Instead, I cranked this out. I am drained. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Broken**

It had been so long. Years. How many now? Eight? No, he knew. Sam couldn't fool himself. He knew the number of years, how many months, weeks, days, down to the hour and last minute. Eight years and four months. Three weeks. Two days. A glance at his watch told him fourteen hours and twelve minutes. Since Dean went to Hell.

The years had been tough. Sam nearly died, nearly killed himself, nearly lost himself, and he still wasn't sure which ending would've been worse. He killed Lilith. He killed Ruby. Meg came next, as well as scores of other demons. Eventually, he got his hands on a demon called Alistair, known as the top torturer down in the pit. Sam had thrown his torture right back at him, making the evil creature scream and writhe for hours on end before finally killing him. He would've gone on longer, but Gwen stopped him.

Gwen helped. As did the rest of his make-shift family. It took him a while to realize it, but Sam wasn't alone. There was Bobby, of course. Always Bobby. Steady, constant, more grey than brown in his hair now, face creased with countless crinkles, but always there.

Gwen, Sam met on a hunt. Campbell. Her last name was Campbell. He met other cousins, but Gwen always stayed by his side. She was the one who helped him track down Meg, track down _him._ She wasn't exactly like a sister, but the closest Sam could ever get. She was the only one who could get him to smile nowadays.

Henry literally fell out of his closet. Sam had been surprised, to say the least, guns raised, ready to shoot first and ask questions later. He never thought that the strange man being chased by one _really bad demon_ was actually his grandfather. They hadn't been able to kill Abbadon, but she was cut up into something like a hundred different pieces, all spread out all over the world. Henry was the one who gave Sam a chance to hope. It was why they were here, now, facing the worst moment of Sam's life, and very possibly the closest he'd ever come to finding any sort of happiness again.

Sam was shaking, heart thumping in his chest, blood pulsing in his veins. Gwen put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he brushed her off. He needed to do this. He was terrified it wouldn't work, and equally terrified that it would. He couldn't help the tears that sprang to his eyes as he listened, couldn't drown out that awful, oh-so-familiar voice, but so different and full of rage and hate and everything Sam loathed to become. What he almost became, in his quest for revenge, and what Dean was now. Dean. His brother. Sam looked up and only saw black eyes.

"Dean," Sam whispered, slowly approaching the twisted creature that had once been his brother. "Dean."

"Heya Sammy," the demon snarled. "Been a long time." He looked past him. "Interesting entourage you got here. Hey, ain't that the kid who managed to trap Abbadon? Gotta admit, he's gotta have some balls if he got that bitch."

Sam didn't reply. Just held up the syringe full of blood and cautiously approached his brother. Dean snarled, lashed out, but he was ready with the holy water, and Sam's heart clenched at how it burned his brother's skin. It was wrong, so wrong, on so many different levels. He shouldn't hurt Dean like this, Dean shouldn't be hurt _by_ this, this was all wrong, wrong, wrong…

"Watcha got there?" Dean asked uneasily, eyeing the blood. His eyes flicked to green, and Sam froze at the sight of a brother he hadn't seen in eight years.

"I'm going to fix you," Sam told him gently, the tears streaming freely now, because it hurt _so, so much._ Hunting him down had been painful. Setting a trap for him had been worse. Coming face to face with the demon that was Dean Winchester nearly killed him. But this…this was a whole new level of agony. Sam's hands shook when he jabbed the needle into Dean's neck, sobbing, whispering a thousand apologies and a thousand excuses, trying to block out Dean's hateful snarls and snaps, stumbling back when the deed was done and finding himself safely in the arms of a weary Bobby. "I-I can't…" Bobby took him away to wait, told him that he could do it instead if he wanted, but Sam refused his offer. He _had_ to do this.

When the hour was up, Sam thought he was ready. He had built up every mental wall he could, prepared himself in every way imaginable. But then Dean spotted him again and grinned. "So we're sharing blood now Sammy? Well, how 'bout we switch this around and I give you some of _my_ blood, eh? I know you acquired a bit of a taste for it! I bet mine probably tastes a lot better than that sorry-excuse-for-a-demon." Sam whirled around and walked out, Dean's calls of "Aw, c'mon, we were having fun!" echoing after him. It was Henry who administered the next injection, and Sam stayed away for another hour.

The third was even worse, but Sam forced his way through it. This time, Dean wailed when the human blood was forced into him, screamed for all his might, his voice echoing all throughout the bunker and beyond. He kept screaming even after Sam removed the needle, though now it was more of a desperate cry, panting and gasping and full of pain. Sam thought he might have been screaming too, but he wasn't sure.

Whether it was seconds or minutes until Dean finally stopped, Sam couldn't tell. When it was over, the silence was suffocating, so thick and oppressing that he found himself clinging desperately to the soft, pained gasps coming from his brother. Sam just wanted to go to him, hold him tight, confirm that he was _there_ and _real_ and _okay_ and nothing was going to happen to him again.

The next hour was long. The following injection was, if possible, even more terrible than the last.

Dean begged and pleaded. He asked for death. He asked for torture. He asked for anything but this. He offered outrageous deals. He offered to bring Mom and Dad back. He offered to bring Jess back. He offered all that and the King of Hell's head on a stick as the bow on top. He offered anything. Everything. Sam did his best to ignore him and plunged the needle into his neck. When he was done, both of them were sobbing, and it took the combined efforts of Gwen and Bobby to get Sam away. Henry watched on gravely, looking pale and uncertain, but stayed behind to watch Dean.

"It...seems to be working," Gwen told him meekly. But Sam pushed her away. She didn't understand. The only one who came close to knowing what he was feeling was Bobby, so it was to him he turned, clinging to the old hunter as if he was just a child.

Gwen didn't know Dean. She had never known Dean. And, of course, the same was true of Henry. All they knew of him were the stories Sam would share, but those were few and far between. The only thing he really said was that Dean was a hero. He was one of the greatest men to have ever lived. And Sam was going to get him back, even if it took him eight years and hell to do it.

But now he was here, and Sam was broken. Completely and utterly broken. Dean...it was all so wrong. Because that demon? He wasn't Dean. Dean saved. Dean helped. Dean only ever wanted to protect, and Dean was gone. Even if Sam managed to fix him, Dean was gone and he was never getting him back.

Sam was ready to sleep for a hundred years when he returned for the next injection. Dean didn't scream this time. He didn't taunt, or beg, or say much of anything. He had tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked up at Sam and uttered one, helpless word. "Please…" Sam stuck him in the neck and refused to look at him.

"Over half way there," Henry encouraged half-heartedly. He didn't understand Sam very well. Perhaps, once, they could've been a lot alike. If anyone was a Man of Letters, it was Sam. Or at least, Sam of the past was. The Sam of now struggled to find any sort of common ground with his grandfather, and often chose to simply stick with Gwen or Bobby when he could. The Sam of now didn't understand much anymore besides hunting and his mission.

Silently, Sam counted six in his head when he returned once more. Dean was pensieve. He was staring resolutely at the floor. When Sam came closer, his quiet voice wafted through the air, such a stark contrast to only a few hours earlier. "I know what you're doing," he whispered. "And I know, if it works, I'll be glad. I understand enough of you humans to know that. But I'm also going to hurt. I know it. Because that's what being human is." He looked up, capturing Sam with watery, green eyes. "Why would you do that to me?" he asked, sounding so desperate and betrayed.

Sam let a soft, near-imperceptible sigh escape his lips. "I think you'll understand soon" he answered gently, this time taking care in how he inserted the needle. There was a soft gasp when he pushed down on the syringe and nothing more. Dean wasn't crying when Sam left. And neither was he. Sam felt dead inside.

He was scared to return, but he did. Dean was exactly how he left him, slumped, defeated, tired, terrified, in pain. "We're almost done," Sam whispered to him, but there was no reply or even an acknowledgment that he understood. Dean simply closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side to make it easier for Sam to insert the needle.

"You ready for this?" Gwen asked him gently as he prepared for the final injection.

"Yeah," Sam murmured back, even though he was unsure himself. He searched deep, but he found nothing. Just a dull, steady ache in his gut, and the faint sense of relief that, one way or another, this was all going to be over soon.

"So this is it then?" Dean asked gently when Sam approached with the final injection. He looked afraid, but also resigned. He looked up at Sam with wide, green eyes, and he wanted to curse him for not making them go to black, make this easier. Sam felt a tear slip down his cheek (he thought he had been all dried out) as he gave his brother the last of the blood. Shaking slightly, he stepped back, retrieving a knife off the table and slowly made a cut on his palm. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Dean murmured, exhausted, resigned, terrified, still a demon, _still a demon._

Sam gave his brother one final, lingering glance before beginning the incantation. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus." _We exorcise you, every impure spirit._ "Hanc animam redintegra." _Fix this soul._ "Lustra..." _Purified…_ "Lustra!" _Purified!_

Sam clapped his bloodied hand over Dean's mouth, shouting the last word, forcing his eyes to remain open at the bright light that followed. And then he was staggering back, palm dripping blood, eyes widened and wild as he stared at the slumped figure bound by iron and chains, hoping... Hoping…

Dean was gasping, and Henry was the one who stepped forward with a flask of holy water. He only blinked, confused, when the water hit his face. Sam felt himself break. There was a cry of joy from Bobby, an excited whoop from Gwen. Henry grinned and unlocked Dean's chains, allowing the man to stumble out and away, almost falling, only to be caught by Sam. Dean looked up at him, confused but _human,_ and alive and okay and oh god, Sam couldn't breath-

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, seemingly not caring that he was currently being cradled by his brother.

"Dean," Sam breathed in response, feeling his eyes well up with tears, a damn inside him breaking as he hugged his brother close, promising to never let go again.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, looking up and Sam could see all the pain behind eyes that would never be black again. Pain, and exhaustion too, and Sam _knew_ he had his brother back when Dean muttered, "You need a haircut," before finally succumbing to his weariness and passing out. Sam could've laughed, so he did, and he was crying, and he was hysterical, but he didn't care because this was Dean and he was here and safe and _Dean, Dean, Dean…_

"I've got you, big brother," Sam whispered. He pulled Dean as close as he could, gripping him so tight that nothing could ever take him away again. "I've got you."

* * *

 **My goal was to make you cry. If you did cry, please tell me so. It will warm the darkness in my soul.**


End file.
